


From a Flicker to a Glow

by Dresupi



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Banter, Cousin Incest, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Joffrey Baratheon is a Little Shit, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Regency, Regency Romance, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi
Summary: In retrospect, it was stupid to think Joffrey Baratheon had ever intended to propose marriage, but Sansa Stark is often blinded by wolves in sheep's clothing, especially if they have very fine wool.Jon arrives to save her, reminding her of the knights in the stories she enjoyed as a girl, complete with a white horse and all. But is he only offering to save her because she needs saving?If so, will that be enough foundation upon which to build a marriage?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 61
Kudos: 278





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> One of my song prompts, the prompt was from an Anon prompter, the song was "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles, and I sort of ran with it in this direction... I hope whoever you are, that you like what I've done with your prompt!
> 
> Special thanks to starfishdancer for so many edits, and treaddelicately for amazing beta work! Thank you so much, both of you!

She’d left her gloves in the carriage.

That was her first thought upon hitting the icy snowbank. She felt the cool air on her skin, where Joffrey had torn her gown in an attempt to rip open the buttons.

Panic swelled in her chest again as the carriage slowed to a stop. Sansa was fully prepared for a continuation of Joffrey’s attack, but she’d not go down without a fight. Straightening her back, she turned, prepared to face an onslaught of his anger. Instead, she saw the Hound walking toward her. Her cloak was in one hand, and her gloves in the other. 

“You left these.”

“Get back in here this instant, Hound!” Joffrey barked from the carriage. “I’m hurt and I need a doctor.”

“Not hurt bad enough,” Sandor muttered. “Are you alright, miss?” He was still holding out her cloak and gloves.

“As well as can be managed. I thank you, ser.”

“Wish I could do more,” Sandor said softly, watching as she put on her cloak and gloves. It was a welcome bit of warmth, even though this wasn’t her normal outdoors cloak. It was merely one she wore to accent her gown, which was now ripped beyond repair, most likely.

She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the snow. “I’ll be fine. Better than I would be in there. With _him_.”

Sansa brushed the snow from the front of her gown and wrapped her arms around herself as she started walking in the direction from whence they’d come. She heard Sandor call up the horses, heard the carriage pull away shortly, following.

She felt so silly. So incredibly stupid. Of course, this is what would happen.

Going without a chaperone was one of the worst things an unmarried woman could do. And she’d gone and done it royally. By the time she got back to Winterfell, everyone was going to know of her ruin.

She’d been so naive to think Joffrey would propose today.

“I don’t want to marry you, you silly bint,” he’d hissed as he fumbled with the front of her gown, giving up on the tiny buttons in favour of ripping the bodice open to reveal her stays and her shift.

Sansa had brought her knee up hard somewhere near his groin and leapt from the carriage without another thought for him or his wellbeing.

And, even though she could tell that Sandor Clegane hadn’t wanted to, he’d driven the carriage away after returning her cloak and gloves.

She was left to walk home on her own. By herself. In the freezing cold north. Winter wasn’t coming, not yet, but it wasn’t ever warm here. 

She wasn’t likely to make it home alone, now that she thought about it. Her cloak and gloves weren’t real cold-weather fare, more fashionable accessories than anything, and she was at least five miles from Winterfell.

Sighing heavily, she kept on. If she was to freeze, at least she’d freeze on her way back to Winterfell and not lying in a ditch somewhere. She was a Stark. Starks didn’t die easily. She held her head high and trudged onward.

The sound of hooves entered her ears and she instinctively walked to the side to move out of the way of whoever was approaching.

Wintertown was only three miles from where she was now, at least. She could surely walk that distance and warm up in the pub or… _Gods_ , no, she couldn’t do that. Not with her dress in the state it was. The tongues would be wagging before she so much as got near to the fire to warm up.

What was she going to do?

That horse and its rider still hadn’t passed, so she took another step to the side, continuing to hold her head high and her arms across her chest to cover what Joffrey had torn asunder.

“Sansa?” a familiar voice asked from atop the horse.

She glanced up the horse’s white flanks to the rider, a familiar presence to match the voice. And an even more welcome one at that. From his polished riding boots to his black service uniform to his even blacker curls, he was surely the last person she ever thought to see on her less-than-safe sojourn. He peered down at her from the back of his startlingly white horse, looking at once like the princely saviours from the books Sansa favoured as a child and relief-incarnate that she wasn’t alone any longer.

She let out a shaky sob. “Jon!”

“Are you well, Sansa?” he asked, quickly pulling the reins to dismount Ghost and take a tentative step toward her. He took her appearance in stride, from her flushed cheeks and her torn gown that she was still trying to hold in place. A vain attempt if she were to greet him properly with the hug that she normally gave him. He scanned her form and met her eyes once more. 

“What’s happened?” he asked, reaching for his throat to unclasp his cloak, whirling it around her and securing it across her shoulders instead.

It was warm and heavy. And smelled like him: leather, soap, and the winter air.

It warmed her skin immediately and she tried to smile, reaching up to undo her own cloak, pulling it out and draping it over her arm. “Thank you, Jon…”

“No thanks are necessary. He brought the hood of his cloak up and over her head. “Tell me what’s happened, Sansa?” he asked, turning to slide an arm around her, steering her around to Ghost’s opposite side to help her mount the saddle.

“It was… I was so stupid.” She skidded to a halt, bursting into tears and hiding her face in her hands.

“What? Surely not…” Jon’s riding gloves creaked with the cold as he clasped her hands and plucked them from her face. “Are you hurt?”

“It was my own fault. I went out on a carriage ride with Joffrey Baratheon. I thought he simply wanted some privacy to ask for my hand, and he… he tried to…” She brought her hand at once to clutch at her ripped gown and swallowed, unable to say what he’d attempted for fear of bursting into tears again. “He attempted to…”

“You don’t have to say more,” Jon assured her, his eyes darkening considerably as he looked in the direction from whence he’d come. “After he assaulted you, Joffrey Baratheon threw you from the carriage without a warm cloak, and just left you here?”

“I brought my knee into him… in his sensitive area,” Sansa sniffed.

“Good girl,” Jon said. “Just what I’d have told you to do.”

“After that, I leapt from the carriage and fell into a snowbank. The Hound brought me my cloak and gloves, for all that they are little protection from the cold. Gave his condolences for his employer, and following that, yes. They left me here, although I feel I must mention that Clegane seemed under duress. But Joffrey is the--”

“The snivelling little git who puts gold in his pocket? I’m fully aware.”Jon sighed before he turned and looked up the road in the direction from which he’d come. “I saw the carriage riding hell-for-leather a while ago. If I’d but known…”

Sansa said. “Joffrey wouldn’t have been worth the fight.”

“You’re always worth it, Sansa,” he assured her, before climbing up onto the back of the horse with her.

He had one arm around her waist as they began to ride towards Winterfell.

“I just… I know I’m ruined now,” Sansa sobbed into the cold wind. “I know it’s a silly thing to be worrying about with everything that’s happened, but I can’t help but think how this one silly decision has ruined all my chances… And Arya’s as well…”

“Well, I’m certain Arya won’t mind being deemed unmarriageable.”

She laughed despite herself. “I know she won’t, but I just… Gods, Jon, I don’t want to die an old maid, whispers and scorn following me until the day I draw my last.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You won’t die an old maid. Someone will marry you, Sansa. You’re lovely. And you’re very accomplished. Anyone would be lucky to be your spouse.”

“And riding back into town with a ripped gown, despite being unmarried.”

He sighed softly and squeezed her softly. “Do not worry, Sansa.”

The ride the rest of the way to Winterfell was spent much warmer than the first part had been, but with every step they took closer to her home, Sansa worried more about what awaited her when she arrived.

“Father is going to be so upset with me,” she murmured, barely audible to herself, so it was a wonder that Jon heard her at all.

“He won’t be. He’ll be more upset with Baratheon than with you.”

“Gods, what if he forces him to marry me?” She hid her face in her hands. “I’d rather be ruined.”

She would. The memory of his snatching hands on her waist, ripping her gown, was almost too much to bear. She could not survive being forced to bear it for the rest of her life.

“You won’t,” Jon said simply.

She sniffled a bit. Jon certainly sounded sure of himself. It was likely just a way to placate her so she wouldn’t burst into tears again on their ride home. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if he knew something she didn’t. Not that she could ever guess what it could be that he knew, but he had that aura about him.

It likely stemmed from the fact that he was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. The title had weight, and a lot of it. He could insist the sky was green and the grass blue, and there were some Northmen who would trip over themselves to agree with him, while others still would merely remain silent even as they disagreed with the false logic, yet not wishing to cross him.

The fact that he didn’t use this power to his own advantage was a testament to his character.

While it had surprised Mother, Sansa certainly wasn’t surprised by Jon’s ascension in the order.

Battlefield promotions had occurred, certainly, but Jon was famous around here for saving them all from the Bolton Rebellion. It had been called the Battle of the Bastards at the time, but now everyone referred to it as what it had been. A failed rebellion.

Jon’s arms were strong around her as they rode. Strong and able. He could likely talk her into calm with no problem whatsoever. 

“You speak as if you know for certain what my future holds,” she said. “And I for one, don’t know how you could.”

“I know what my immediate future holds,” Jon said in a matter-of-fact tone. “And as to what yours holds, my lady, that is up to you.”

“Up to me?” she asked. “It never has been before, I’m unsure of what could possibly change in that regard. Especially now. If anything, my future will be so far removed from my hands that--“

“I have a commission,” Jon stated.

She knew that. Everyone knew that. As Lord Commander, his commission actually surpassed Father’s living.

“Indeed you do,” she said slowly. “But I am—“

“I will ask for your hand when we arrive at Winterfell.”

“ _Jon_ ,” she said abruptly, turning in the saddle to try and look at him. “Jon, you cannot be serious.”

“Indeed, I am,” he replied. “Quite serious.”

She laughed aloud without humour. “No, you are not. You’re teasing me and let me tell you, it is not the time for such antics.”

“Have you ever known me to tease you, Sansa?” She lobbed a look back at him and rolled her eyes. He chuckled. “Recently.”

“Recently, no. But that’s only because you’ve been off becoming a war hero and Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

Ghost whinnied as if to double down on Jon’s hero status. She swore that horse could read his mind sometimes.

“Well, then. Take recent events into consideration when you decide whether or not I tease you now.”

“You do,” she said immediately. 

“I do not. I fully intend to ask for your hand.”

“You could marry anyone. Any woman would jump at the chance to have you.”

“And I will only have you, so all those other women can jump up and down as much as they please, but you’ll be my wife and they will not.”

“You haven’t even asked me, Jon. You don’t know if I fancy you.”

“And I don’t know if I fancy you either. But it stands to reason, I came back to Winterfell and Wintertown to choose a wife. And I’ve chosen one. On my ride in, no less. It’s wonderful timing.”

“You wouldn’t have chosen me if I wasn’t in desperate need of saving.”

“What would you take me for?” he asked, clicking his tongue and digging in his heels to speed Ghost up.

“Well, you did ride up upon your white horse to my rescue,” she reminded him.

“And you think I wasn’t considering you before?”

“Were you?”

“I might have been.”

“You weren’t,” she sniffed. “And while I do feel grateful for your pity, I don’t wish to tie you down into a loveless marriage just to save me from ruin.”

“Sansa. It wouldn’t be a loveless marriage. Do you not love me?”

“Not in the way a wife loves a husband.”

“Aye, and most husbands and wives do not enter into the marriage with any feelings at all. We would be coming in ahead of the gate, would we not?”

“You’re not serious,” she repeated.

“So you keep insisting. But you’re wrong.”

“Fine. If you truly wish to marry me, go and ask my father for my hand.”

“Oh, I intend to,” he replied, turning Ghost down the lane where she lived.

It still took a while yet to approach Winterfell, but Sansa was obstinate the entire time, refusing to speak until they pulled up to the door. Jon hopped down from his horse and reached up to place his hands on Sansa’s waist. She started to raise herself to aid him in his task, but he lifted her with no issue whatsoever, placing her promptly on the drive beside him, eyes level with hers as he stared deeply into them.

She pressed her lips together and looked down. “Well…”

“Well… do you still want me to speak with your father?”

“Only if you’re serious about asking for my hand.”

“I am,” he assured her, eyes dark and beseeching as he gazed at her. “I assure you I am. Is that alright?”

_Was that alright?_

Her mind was swimming. It was true Jon had been raised alongside them, but they had never acted as brother and sister. He’d teased her alongside Robb, preferring Arya’s company to hers. 

“I don’t wish for you to martyr yourself. You could make a good marriage. Any marriage you’d like. I’m sure some Northmen wouldn’t turn down a chance to ally their line with yours.”

He chuckled. “I believe I’m making the best marriage,” Jon replied. “I’ll make you a good husband, Sansa.”

“I know you would,” she said softly. And she believed it, she truly did. “But…”

“But…?”

“I… you and I… we…”

“You don’t believe I could love you as a husband loves a wife,” he said bluntly.

“No,” she admitted. “No, I don’t, Jon. And I don’t feel it’s fair that you take this upon yourself. That you fix this because you feel duty-bound to—“

“Sansa, you used to trip me on purpose. I used to rip your doll’s hair out in retaliation. I don’t feel duty-bound to you for anything.”

“So you truly were considering me?”

“It was the main reason for visiting today,” he admitted slowly. “I had wanted to speak with you, to curry favour. To see if there was a chance you’d take me over one of your southern pretty boys, but…”

Tears burned in her eyes when she reached up to wipe them away. “Jon… I had no idea you thought of me as…”

“Only recently,” he admitted. When I was told I should marry. I started to think about who I wanted as a wife…and you were the only one I could picture. Forgive me the daydream, but I thought we’d make a good fit.”

“And now that I’m… ruined?”

“You’re not ruined. That Baratheon boy is, if he ever comes near you again.”

She smiled softly. “So you’re going to talk to Father?”

“Yes, I wasn’t intending to do that quite so soon, but I feel recent events call for it. If you are in agreement with me, Sansa.”

She inhaled softly and nodded. “I am.”

He smiled and reached for her hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss there as he stood back from her. “After you, my lady.”

When they entered the house, there was a kerfluffle as soon as Mother realized where she’d been and with whom. Lady Stark swallowed her disdain that it had been Jon who saved her daughter from certain death. She even went so far as to thank him for bringing her back.

Jon was correct in his assumption that Father would be angry at Joffrey, and not at Sansa. So angry, in fact, that he wrote straight away to Robert Baratheon asking for a meeting to discuss what he planned to do to discipline his son, because, as Father put it, if it wasn’t enough, he had some suggestions that involved both his fists and Joffrey getting to know both of them very well indeed.

Father had hugged her tightly and apologised for failing her, something which Sansa couldn’t begin to fathom as the truth, and told him so, only receiving another embrace in response.

After he’d released her, Jon nodded to Ned and asked if he could speak with him in his office.

Sansa waited, her heart in her throat as Cat fussed with the neckline of her gown and then ushered her upstairs to change.

So, when Jon left Ned’s study, she was half-dressed upstairs, being helped into a new gown by her abigail. But she knew Ned had informed Cat, because she heard a wail like no other she’d ever heard before.

Smiling to herself, she allowed her abigail to help her fasten the gown and adjust the curl of her hair before stepping out of her room and back downstairs.

Mother was nowhere to be found, but Father and Arya were standing there waiting for Sansa to arrive.

“Mum’s gone outside to have a litter,” Arya announced, smirking slightly.

“Arya,” Ned chastised. “Come, let us go look for her. She can’t have gone far.” He reached for Sansa’s hand before he left, squeezing it tightly before ushering Arya out the door.

With that, her sister and her father left the room.

Bran and Rickon were still out as far as she knew, and Robb was south, calling on Lady Margaery Tyrell. It seemed the two of them would have a fall wedding that year. But seeing as all of her brothers were out of the house, that left Sansa alone with a man for the second time that day. Still, she felt considerably safer than she had with Joff.

“Your father thinks we should wed sooner rather than later,” Jon said softly.

“So he gave you my hand, did he?”

“Indeed. Because I asked for it,” Jon smiled.

“You still haven’t asked me,” she teased slightly.

“Sansa. Will you be my wife?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”

“Splendid. We can post banns this week and be married in the Godswood the Sunday next?”

“Sunday next,” she repeated and smiled widely. “Yes. That seems… apropos.”

It looked as if Sansa would beat her brother to the altar, after all, no matter that his courtship had been far ahead of her own.

She still wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. She swallowed thickly.

“Sansa,” Jon reached for her hand and pressed it gently into his own. “I want you to know, I don’t… expect anything of you. I don’t expect you to love me.”

She pressed her lips together and squeezed his hands back. “Nor I you, Jon.”

“No, I mean…” he trailed off, staring deeply into her eyes. He swore softly and leaned forward, catching her lips in a kiss that made her heart leap.

Her hands were still in his, and he broke off the kiss nearly as soon as he’d started it, leaving her blinking and unsure of what had just happened.

“My apologies. After what you’ve been through, the last thing you could want is another man accosting you,” he said, looking down and dropping her hands.

She reached for the lapels of his officer’s coat, deep black and trimmed in fur. She pulled him close and pressed her lips to his, seeking a bit more of the warmth that he’d given in the first kiss.

His hands fell to her waist, barely resting there as he allowed her to kiss him as she chose. Which was slowly. She wanted to explore his lips, to lose herself in his scent.

When she finally broke it off, she blinked, staring into his dark eyes. “Sunday next?”

“Aye,” he said, his voice cracking a little, causing him to clear his throat. “Sunday next.”


	2. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter!
> 
> Special thanks to starfishdancer for all the amazing edits and to treaddelicately for her amazing beta work!!!
> 
> I hope y'all like the conclusion! (We earn the rating in this chapter!)

Things went very swiftly following Jon’s proposal. 

Ned Stark did go to meet with Joffrey and Robert, and Stark would later regale Jon with the minutes of said meeting. The elder Baratheon was prepared to allow Ned to do as he would to Joffrey and, much to Jon’s amusement, Ned pretended that his aim was to indeed strike the other man, who recoiled almost instantaneously even though no wallop ensued. Stark instead used it as a moment to make sure the little git remembered exactly who Sansa was. And who came with her. 

Together with Robert’s backing, the threat resulted in Joffrey disappearing back to King’s Landing with nary a word about Sansa or anyone in the North for that matter. 

As such, as far as Sansa’s reputation, it wasn’t tarnished in any way. Not that Jon could tell. In fact, all anyone could talk about was the fact that she was to marry _him_ , of all people. 

Arya was the one who brought back all the gossip, somehow able to manoeuvre the town without anyone realizing she was there, hearing the whispers and the shouts alike. 

She told both Jon and Sansa that everyone thought an engagement between Sansa and Joffrey had been all but imminent, or for those few not of that mind, it was thought she was instead betrothed to a man in the Vale. However, no one had foretold this development: Sansa Stark would be married to Commander Snow. 

Even though it came as a surprise to many, the general consensus was that it was a good match. Not to mention, the fact left more than one eligible young lady lamenting that she now wouldn’t be able to marry Jon Snow. Their own dashed hopes aside, everyone was pleased with the upcoming union. 

Jon had noted how Sansa seemed to relax when Arya relayed that last bit. The colour returned to her face once she realized that not only was she not ruined (and therefore, bringing Jon down with her), the union was much anticipated. 

He wished to spend some time alone with her before the Sunday of their nuptials, but it wasn’t meant to be. Sansa and Catelyn were made busy working on her wedding gown. 

Sansa had the majority of it already sewn and in her hope chest, but she and her mother had to put the finishing touches on it. He had no clue what to expect beyond that since the garment was swiftly hidden from his sight whenever he entered the room. 

It wasn’t until the Saturday before their wedding that he was able to procure a bit of Sansa’s time. He invited her for a walk in the glass gardens. Arya tagged along as their chaperone, but she wasn’t paying any attention at all, instead running off to yell at Bran for climbing too high in a tree again. It left the two of them alone in the relative silence of the gardens. 

Sansa had clasped both her hands together, strolling along beside him. 

“It seems it will be sunny tomorrow,” Jon began awkwardly. 

“It will indeed,” Sansa said. “Father says it’s good for us to marry on a sunny day. They say if it snows during a wedding, the marriage will be cold. It seems ours will be…” she trailed off before finishing her sentence. Even leaving it unspoken, the words were still hanging there in front of them. 

“Warm,” he finished for her, offering his arm. She smiled at him and accepted, her hand sliding into the crook of his elbow. He brought his other hand up to clasp her fingers, liking how she felt alongside him like this. “Sansa, I wanted to speak with you before the ceremony.” 

“Aye, and I to you as well… I have questions.” 

“I can give you answers,” he replied. “What do you wish to ask?” 

“Many things, but I fear you might not be the best to answer me on all topics.” 

“Oh, which topics might I not be helpful?” 

She swallowed thickly, again not answering him, but it left very clear her meaning. 

“Ah,” he said. “Well, I could answer those questions for you, but you’re right. Perhaps your mother would be the better person to ask?” 

She nodded and squeezed his arm. 

He patted her hand. “I plan to deny them the bedding ceremony.” 

He noted her throat move as she swallowed. “I thank you for that, ser.” 

“Jon,” he supplied. “You called me Jon only a few days ago. Why should it be any different now?” 

“Jon,” she said. “Thank you for that.” 

“In fact, we needn’t do anything at all in those respects.” 

“No, I… I wish to… This isn’t appropriate to discuss,” she said, her voice low. 

“Not today, perhaps,” he chuckled. 

“Not until after we are wed.” 

“Then, we shall pick this up again tomorrow after the ceremony?” he asked. 

“When we are alone, of course,” she said, her voice so low, he could scarcely hear her. 

“But you wish to…” he trailed off, asking her because he couldn’t believe she’d said it. Or nearly said it, as it were. 

“I do,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I wish to enter this like any other marriage. Not one of convenience.” 

He inhaled and nodded. “Yes. I can oblige you.” 

She steered him closer to a small field of maize, the stalks rising up well above both their heads as she, pulling him in with her. Once there, she pressed her lips to his feverishly. “Jon… I don’t wish to make you wait for me to be open to you. Consider me an open book.” 

“I read rather slowly,” he said softly. “So I think you’ll find that you won’t mind me turning your pages. I hope.” 

She inhaled sharply and kissed him full on the lips once more. 

He felt something stirring to life within him, but he tamped it down and ended the kiss. “Until tomorrow, Sansa.” 

“Tomorrow,” she replied, kissing him once more before going back up on the path. Jon followed her. 

* * *

He wore his full regalia to the Godswood on the day of the wedding. 

The ceremony itself was small, attended by a family and a few close friends of the Starks. The wedding feast would take place in the dining hall later, and most of the townspeople would attend. 

He was nervous throughout the vows, especially when her father asked her if she would take him. 

She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. Not scared, but with a healthy respect for the future’s surprises to be sure. Then she took a deep breath to speak. “I take this man.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief and he removed his cloak, just as he had on the road before, draping it around her shoulders. 

The spectators clapped as he offered his arm and she took it, smiling as they walked along the path to the dining hall of Winterfell. 

Her gown was lovely. It was soft grey like her house colours, the brocade she’d chosen included the odd direwolf here and there, to take on the appearance of her house sigil. 

Jon had known it well growing up. He’d known he wasn’t a Stark, not truly because his father’s identity wasn’t known. His dear mother took the secret with her to her grave, and Lord Stark had kindly taken him in. Thus, Jon was relegated to be a Snow. 

He didn’t mind at all. He had a good-sized portion bequeathed to him by his mother, along with a property in her name, upon the time he’d aged up enough to receive it. Of course, by then, he’d gone off to join the Watch. But his Watch would come to an end the second he took a wife, so he’d take his inheritance and the allotment he was due as former commander and war hero and he’d take up residence in his new home. He’d escort his new wife to his estate. It had been lived in only by servants for the past few years, as he paid to keep them on and keep the house in order until he could come to live there full-time. He’d visited, of course, when his command would allow, and had come from there just before he came to Winterfell. 

He thought of his home and how well Sansa would look running it. 

There were vast swaths of land that he hoped to rent out to farmers. He didn’t want many tenants, but he hoped to have a small community bustling there as soon as was possible. 

As he and his new wife entered the dining hall, the crowd in attendance of the day-long feast was vastly larger than the one that had attended the ceremony. But then again, Northmen made a big show of weddings. 

He soon lost himself in his lovely wife’s laughter and even asked her to dance a few times. She moved nimbly in his arms and it gave Jon a pang of regret knowing that the only reason her lady mother had agreed to let them marry was for fear of her not receiving another proposal should the Baratheon boy choose to ruin her. 

Sansa was a tall woman, but she moved so lithely, one forgot she was almost taller than he was. 

Almost being the keyword. 

When she took turns with her father and with Robb, he had to laugh as he watched her. She outdanced the both of them but made them look accomplished in the process. 

Gods, she was wonderful. 

The time for the bedding soon came and everyone groaned when Jon stood at the first whisper of its advent. “There will be no bedding ceremony,” he said loudly and led his wife back to his own chambers. 

Once the doors were closed, she turned to look at him, her arms wrapped around her middle. She chuckled nervously, inhaling as if she were about to speak, but then didn’t. 

“You have questions?” he ventured, holding out his hand towards her. 

“I do,” she said softly. 

“Then ask.” 

Ask she did. She seemed to understand the basics of it all, as her mother had likely told her what to expect. No, she asked instead after his past. 

“Have you … have you ever lain with anyone before?” she asked as he helped her to undress for bed. His fingers felt clumsy as he undid the buttons on her gown. He answered her as she carefully folded the gown into a thick square and placed it upon the bench beside the door. 

“I have,” he said truthfully. 

“Who was she?” she asked, turning around to allow him to loosen her stays. His fingers brushed against her warm skin, which sent jolts of excitement through his veins. He concentrated on the laces, but as she pulled it loose and slid it off, she turned, looking at him expectantly as she placed the stays on the bench as well. 

He tried not to watch her pull off her underdress as he began to tell her about Ygritte. 

“She was from north of the wall,” he replied slowly. He gestured to her hair. 

“Kissed by Fire, like you are.” She was tugging pins out of her hair, sending the auburn tresses cascading down her back. “Like me? Kissed by Fire?” she grinned and went to the bureau to pick up the hairbrush that laid there. “I’ve not heard that turn of phrase.” 

“In my experience, I find it to be appropriate in most instances.” 

Sansa ran the brush through her hair. “She had hair like mine… so…” 

“Doesn’t mean anything,” Jon said softly, not wanting to think about if it did. 

“Everything usually does, Jon,” she replied. “But I’ve no reason to think badly of you.” 

“You wouldn’t be a replacement for her, Sansa,” he assured her. “Believe me. You are… you are your own.” 

She smiled gently. “Did you love her?” she asked. 

“I did. I don’t anymore.” 

He would never speak badly of her, but they did things differently north of the wall. Jon had fallen in love but had been a passing fancy for her. Ygritte was never interested in being a ‘house mouse’ as she put it. 

At the end of the day, Jon supposed he wanted a house mouse. 

Not that Sansa was a mouse. 

She replaced the brush on the bureau and turned to face him. 

He tried not to look at her as she stood. The shift she was wearing was just sheer enough to make out the tips of her breasts, dark pink and stiff against the soft fabric. 

“I promise I don’t,” he replied. 

“I believe you,” she said, smirking. “However, I appear to be undressed, so it’s your turn.” 

“Sansa, I don’t require help, you can go warm up under the furs if you wish.” 

“It feels only proper I should help you since you helped me.” 

He felt his lips tug up in a small smile as she moved closer. So close he could feel the heat radiating off her body. 

“Sansa…” 

She brought her hands up to the buttons of his jacket. 

His formal dress was black as night with silver buttons that got icy when he was outdoors for any length of time, which was why he never wore this except for formal situations. The jacket was fur-lined, but it didn’t allow him the range of movement his boiled leather did. 

As she pushed the coat off his shoulders, she folded it easily over her arm before placing it on the back of the chair beside the desk on the far wall. 

Again, he had to avert his eyes from her breasts, to force his to remain on her blue ones as she turned once more, her auburn hair falling in long, loose waves around her face. She undid his cravat, the same black as the rest of his uniform. It was customary for the groom to wear his house colours for his wedding, but seeing as Jon didn’t have any, he wore the black of his command. 

“Sansa, you really don’t—“ 

“I had to feel your hands on me and not know how to react, so I fear you’ll have to suffer through the same punishment,” she teased, her fingers sliding on his waistcoat as she popped each button out of its hole and got the thing undone and folded on the back of the chair along with his jacket. 

Next was his shirt, which billowed out from inside his breeches as she tugged it up and out. The fastenings on his wrists and neck were untied before she pulled it over his head. 

“That’s enough,” he murmured, grabbing her hands and holding them still as she arched a lovely eyebrow up at him. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Are you?” he asked. 

“You said I might ask questions… What sort of questions did you fancy I’d ask? What might you know more about than I other than this, Jon?” 

“I don’t know much more about it than you,” he murmured softly. “I know where to touch and when and that’s all.” 

“I know nothing at all besides what goes where and when. And how to lie back and think about my future children.” 

Jon almost laughed out loud at that. “That’s all Catelyn told you?” 

Sansa’s eyes widened. “There’s more than that?” 

“Gods, Sansa. Yes, there’s more than that.” 

“Well, see?” her cheeks reddened in a very enticing way as she sat primly at the end of the bed. “I shall need all the guidance I can muster. And who better than my husband to teach me?” 

He sighed. “What would you like to know, my dear, naive wife?” 

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re simply going to tease me, I might as well go ask Arya.” 

“Sansa,” he walked over and cupped her face with both hands, gently tilting her up so she was looking at him once more. “I will answer any and all questions without impunity. Tonight only. So make sure you get them all out in the open.” 

“You won’t answer any of my questions after this?” she asked, her bottom lip poking out and making him lose his thoughts. 

“Of course, I simply mean…” 

“I know what you meant, Jon,” she laughed and he wanted to kiss her straight away. Instead, he simply gestured to the bed. 

“First, lest you catch your death, get under the furs.” 

“Yes, dear,” she said as she climbed up under the furs and slid down between them. “Is this alright? Will you be joining me?” 

He sighed and stood to walk around to the other side of the partition. “Let me go put on my nightshirt.” 

“I rather liked looking at your chest,” she said and he sighed. 

“Sansa, if you’re leering at me, I won’t be able to give you solid answers.” 

“Jon. Believe it or not, you’ve already answered a few of them.” 

He sighed and moved over to the partition and pulled off his breeches and boots. He removed his small clothes as well and pulled his nightshirt on, hoping like the seven hells that it would hide the fact that his cock was hard as a block of ice now. Wasn’t cold though. That might help matters, actually. 

He moved from behind the partition. Sansa’s eyes were on him, so he quickly made for his side and climbed into the bed, keeping some room between them 

“So what are your questions?” he asked. 

“Will it hurt?” she asked immediately, eyes wide. His heart immediately went out to her. 

“Not if I can help it,” he replied softly, rolling over to prop his head on his hand. It was one thing he’d learned from Ygritte. She’d instructed him on the proper gentle way to take a woman’s maidenhead. 

_“Under no circumstances should you force your way in, Jon Snow,” she’d instructed, bopping him on the nose. “You get her good and wet first so you slide in easily. And work her open with your fingers… You know how I like that.”_

After that, the conversation had devolved into something else that he didn’t want to think about in his marriage bed. 

“How will it not hurt?” she asked. “Mother said that even her first time with Father hurt. And he was very careful.” 

“Not careful enough,” Jon said simply. “You see, I’ll have to get you good and wet first…” 

“Wet?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “How will you do that?” 

“You… you’ve surely noted that sometimes you are wetter between your legs than other times?” 

“Yes,” she said nodded. “Is there a way I can control it?” 

He smiled and shook his head. “No, but if helped along, it can ease the entry.” 

“Of your…” she gestured vaguely down below the blankets and he nodded slowly. 

“Indeed.” 

“Your _indeed_?” she teased, rolling over. “I suppose I shall have to refer to your _indeed_ as thus in the future.” 

“Sansa,” he laughed, reaching over to tuck a tendril of her hair behind her ear. 

“Jon,” she repeated, reaching for his hand. “Show me how you’ll help it along.” 

“Sansa,” he repeated, his voice going low and gravelly as she pulled his hand towards her body. “If I do that…” 

“You’ll want to do it?” she asked. 

“No. I can control myself,” he replied. “I just thought you were frightened.” 

“Not of you. Of the pain. And the blood.” 

A surge of arousal pooled around his groin and he scooted closer. “Not of me?” he asked, tucking another strand behind her ear again and using it as an excuse to touch her face. 

Her lovely, smooth face. 

“Never of you,” she assured him, and he closed the distance between them. There was no harm in touching her. She was his wife. And she was asking. 

“Can I touch you as well?” she asked between kisses. 

He groaned into her mouth and broke off the kiss to look her in the eye. “You can do whatever you wish, my lady.” 

She made quick work of his nightshirt, tugging it up and over his head and tossing it on the floor. He was completely nude beneath it but covered mostly by the furs on the bed. 

He stayed where he was and Sansa came to him. The way she clung to his body, he wondered if she might know something of which she asked, but he quickly put the thought out of his head as her hand fished down beneath the blankets for his _‘indeed_ ’. 

Fuck, now _he_ was calling it that. 

He reached down and clasped her hand in his. “What are you looking for?” he asked softly, kissing her lips between the words. 

“Your… manhood,” she murmured softly, and he pressed her hand down against his erection and she jolted. 

Not out of fear, merely from surprise. Jon apologised. Sansa whispered that it was fine, she was merely startled. 

Jon removed his hand and allowed her to explore, no matter how it might kill him slowly. Her fingers were soft and, as they wrapped around his cock, he groaned softly. She moved her hand experimentally, watching his face as she did. It felt clumsy, yes, but still so good and so much better than if he were to touch it himself. 

“Sansa,” he groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow behind him. 

“Is that… was it good? Am I doing well?” she asked, her hand moving more smoothly now. 

“So good,” he murmured. “So well I have to stop you if this is to get any farther than this.” She smiled softly and released him. He caught his breath and leaned over to kiss her. “As much as I would love to have you touch me all night long, I’m afraid I wouldn’t last, darling.” 

“Darling,” she murmured, echoing his tone. 

He kissed her softly. “I don’t have to call you that, I was just trying it out…” 

“No, I like it… I like… being someone’s darling…” 

He smiled, his heart swelling with affection as he reached for her, running his fingers through her hair and pulling her close for a deeper kiss. As he did, she slung her leg up over his hips and rolled over atop him, her thighs straddling his hips. 

His cock was currently trapped between them as she moved and she glanced down at it, likely seeing it for the first time. Her eyes widened and she swallowed thickly. 

“We don’t have to do anything more tonight,” he murmured, reaching for her and kissing her softly. “We can stop here.” 

“I don’t wish to stop… I wish to… gods, I want to be where you are, Jon.” She leaned down over him and kissed him hurriedly, frantically, as if she couldn’t get enough, as though he was going to take it away. 

He shushed her against her lips. “You are where I am, darling.” 

“No, I mean… Exactly where you are,” she murmured. “Gods, I… I want…” 

He could feel himself getting slick between them as his cock leaked against his belly. 

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he promised against her lips. 

“I want… I don’t know what to ask for,” she lamented and he reached for her waist, coaxing her to shift atop him and gods, what a picture she made. Tall as hell and long legs that he’d die to have wrapped around him. That would soon be wrapped around him. Dressed in nought but a nearly sheer shift that he was now staring unabashedly, his eyes on her breasts as they poked against the fabric from beneath. 

He knew what he could give her. He just hoped she’d be open to it. 

“I’d like to try something,” he said softly, rubbing his thumbs over her hips and she nodded. 

“Yes, please… I want it.” 

He smiled and gently rolled her over on her side and knelt between her spread thighs. Her skin was milky white and so smooth, it almost hurt him to run his calloused fingers over it. She didn’t seem to mind. To the contrary, she seemed to like it. 

“Gods,” she whimpered and he ducked down to kiss her quickly. 

“I’m going to put my mouth on you,” he said softly. “Put your mouth on me where?” she asked. 

“Here,” he said, reaching down to cup her mound, her shift still between her legs and separating them from touching skin to skin. She damn near purred and he all but lost himself right then. 

She was warm. Hot, even, and he could feel how damp even through the fabric. 

“Jon,” she whispered. “You put your mouth _there_?” 

“Aye,” he murmured. “Is that alright?” 

“Is it alright? I might as well ask you the same question…” 

“It’s more than alright,” he murmured, chuckling slightly. “I quite like it, in fact.” 

Her eyes widened. “Putting your mouth on my—“ 

“Aye… I’ve heard it called a Lord’s kiss before…” he said softly, nuzzling against her nose. 

“I’ve never heard of any Lords who have done such a thing. And I sincerely doubt any of the ladies I know could have kept such things secret.” 

He smirked and kissed her again. “I’ll try it, and you tell me if you like it or not, yes?” 

“Yes,” she breathed and he slowly moved down the mattress, rolling up her shift and pushing it up to her waist until it was bunched there, her quim on full display for him. 

She’d grown nervous, fingers gripping the sheets as he ran his fingertips up her inner thigh. “Sansa, love. You’re gorgeous…” 

She sighed softly and he down between her legs, parting her lips with his thumbs so he could find what he was looking for: Her pearl, shiny and pink, nestled there at the crest of her folds. He leaned over and ran his tongue on either side of it, over the hood and back around again. 

She stiffened, so he stopped, looking up at her from between her spread thighs. “Shall I stop?” 

“Never stop,” she groaned, reaching down and pressing his head back down to her quim. 

He chuckled but set to work immediately, fluttering his tongue over her pearl and allowing her to stiffen and rock as she pleased. 

It was a heady feeling, being the first to give her pleasure like this. 

She was whispering his name and moving her hips, her fingers tightened in his hair as he suckled softly on the tiny nub, causing her to gasp out, her voice throaty and shrill simultaneously. 

“Gods,” she groaned, her fingers tight in his hair. It was starting to ache, the back of his scalp, but he wasn’t about to stop, not when the sound of her voice rose and she began to chant his name over and over again. 

“Jon, Jon, Jon…” 

He groaned, his cock aching with need at the sound of his name in such a way on her lips. 

“Please,” she pleaded and he sucked softly on her nub, drawing it gently into his mouth where he could swirl his tongue. 

She exploded right there, he felt her muscles clench and go lax almost immediately as her voice rose in pitch, her hips rocking up until he felt her muscles begin to ripple against him and he pushed upon his hands, bringing one up to wipe his mouth and chin. 

Sansa fell back on the mattress, panting and laughing and pulling him down for kisses. He was sloppy, given how much of a workout his lips and jaw had just gotten, but it didn’t really matter. Not when his wife, his _new_ wife, was pink with pleasure and happiness, pulling him close. 

“I want you,” she whispered, reaching down between them. 

“Are you certain?” he murmured, his cock pulsing with desire as she nodded, spreading her legs a bit wider so he could shuffle between them, feeling how slick she was with his saliva and her own arousal. 

His breath hitched as she let her hands fall back on the pillows on either side of her head, looking at once a gorgeous vision in his bed and utterly arousing at the same time. 

“Well?” she asked, smiling. 

He grinned and slotting his cock in her opening. “I’ll go slow,” he promised. 

Judging by her reaction, he needn’t have bothered. She sighed as he slowly seated himself between her hips. “Jon…” 

“How is that?’ he asked, his arms nearly shaking with the effort not to collapse on top of her. 

“It feels… odd,” she replied. “Strange. And full.” 

He smiled and pulled back slowly, only to push back in. He met no resistance. To the contrary, she was so slick, it was difficult to keep his slow pace, but keep it he did. 

“Sansa,” he whispered softly, keeping his movements slow and deliberate until she wrapped both arms around him and bid him go faster. 

He did as she requested, finding his own peak after mere moments of moving into her. He was grateful he’d helped her peak first because now he was utterly exhausted. At least for the time being. 

He pulled out of her, noting with a wince the slight pinkish tinge on the sheets beneath her. 

“Are you sore?” he asked. 

She winced and shifted. “A bit, but only since you asked,” she said, smiling. 

“I apologise for that…” he whispered. “I could put my mouth on you again?” 

“But Jon, you…” she looked side to side before continuing. “Jon, you spent yourself.” 

“Aye, and what of it?” 

“It’s there. Inside me. Your seed, it’s…” 

“I put it there, I can clean it up,” he murmured, pushing up on his hands, his arms holding him high over her as he bent to kiss her throat. 

Her eyes immediately widened as she turned her attention to his arms. 

“Something wrong, darling?” he asked as he knelt between her thighs again. 

“I quite like the look of your arms.” 

He grinned. “I’ll remember that.” Then he pushed between her legs and the only words were his name, uttered softly and high on her lips as he brought her to her peak once more. 

After that, she curled up in his arms, her leg hiked upon his waist as he stroked her back. 

“You’re certain you’re not sore?” he murmured. 

“It was only the slightest bit right after, but I’m fine now,” she assured him. “It all felt… lovely.” 

“Lovely,” he repeated. “That’s a good starting point, I’d wager.” 

“A starting point?” she laughed. “Jon, I’m not sure anything could be better than that… thing you do with your mouth.” 

“I hope you’ll teach me to be much, much better,” he whispered softly. 

“That I could teach you anything is laughable, Jon. You know infinitely more than I.” 

“I don’t know _you_ ,” he said. “Not this way. You’ll teach me, won’t you?” 

“Jon…” she said as she ran her fingers through his hair and he lowered his lips to hers. 

He was her husband, and she was his wife. They had all the time in the world to teach one another. 


End file.
